forgat and Ay spend all money. Ven Ay tank again, it's too late.
[He sighs.] Ay don't know vhy but dat's vay with most sailor
fallar, Anna. Dat ole davil sea make dem crazy fools with her
dirty tricks. It's so.

ANNA--[Who has watched him keenly while he has been speaking--with
a trace of scorn in her voice.] Then you think the sea's to blame
for everything, eh? Well, you're still workin' on it, ain't you,
spite of all you used to write me about hating it. That dame was
here told me you was captain of a coal barge--and you wrote me you
was yanitor of a building!

CHRIS--[Embarrassed but lying glibly.] Oh, Ay work on land long
time as yanitor. Yust short time ago Ay got dis yob cause Ay vas
sick, need open air.

ANNA--[Sceptically.] Sick? You? You'd never think it.

CHRIS--And, Anna, dis ain't real sailor yob. Dis ain't real boat
on sea. She's yust ole tub--like piece of land with house on it
dat float. Yob on her ain't sea yob. No. Ay don't gat yob on sea,
Anna, if Ay die first. Ay swear dat, ven your mo'der die. Ay keep
my word, py yingo!

ANNA--[Perplexed.] Well, I can't see no difference. [Dismissing
the subject.] Speaking of being sick, I been there myself--yust
out of the hospital two weeks ago.

CHRIS--[Immediately all concern.] You, Anna? Py golly!
[Anxiously.] You feel better now, dough, don't you? You look